Time Gone By
by emilylikeselephants
Summary: Sam and Dean are stopping off for a bite to eat in a diner, but a question of Sam's leaves Dean considering old memories concerning favourite foods, which can not end well.


"Jesus Christ, what is it with you and pie?" Sam asked, half astounded as he watched his brother shovel the dessert into his mouth. Dean gave a shrug, currently too busy investigating the simply divine cherries to pay the question much mind.  
"Jus' like 'em." He replied, spraying crumbs so far that his words were barely distinguishable. Bits of spit and pastry flew into Sam's salad and with a wrinkle of his nose the taller man pushed the plate away from himself.  
"Could you like them somewhere else?" He asked, just managing to save his coffee from the same fate. Dean rolled his eyes, shoveling another spoon into his mouth.  
"Could you be annoying somewhere else?"  
"Great comeback."  
"I try."  
Sam sighed heavily and glanced to the window as Dean grinned in triumph. He took another bite of his food, and let his eyes wander around the diner in which they sat. His brain strayed into his own thoughts as he started to seriously consider his brother's question.

_"Dean, honey, go get the jam for me."_

He shook himself free of a memory that invaded his thoughts. Pie was pie. Sam was being stupid. Dean just _liked _it. He was _allowed._

_Sunlight shining through thin net curtains. Tiled floors and wooden counters and her blonde hair._

_ Stop it_. He told himself, blinking hard. He shook himself lightly, waved away his brother's concern, and took another, slightly more violent bite of his favourite food.

_"That's it, now we add the eggs…. That's it." Painted white doors and washed yellow walls. Floury surfaces and ceramic bowls and his pictures on the walls.  
"You think daddy will like it, mommy?"  
"I'm sure of it." Her white toothed smile and beaming eyes and proud expression. "You're doing so well, Dean."_

His jaw twitched and his grip tightened on his fork.

_Green expanses of garden, which seem like forests, out of picturesque windows. Trimmed front lawns and the smell of pastry and cooked fruits and summer. Her laughter in the air and his grin on his face. A light heart and a careless spirit in each. "Pop that in the dish for me?"_

"Dean? Dean." Sam's voice interrupted his brother's thoughts and Dean snapped back to reality, blinking as he looked at his brother's face again.  
"Huh?" He asked, only half with it.  
"Are you alright? You looked sort of… pained."  
"I'm fine." Came Dean's reply. He cleared his throat as he glanced back to the plate of pie in front of him. He looked at it for a second before he pushed it away, downing his cold coffee quickly. "Are you ready to go?"  
"You haven't finished." Sam pointed out in confusion, but stood along side his brother anyway. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"  
"I'm fine." Dean repeated, though his voice still didn't seem quite normal. "Just not hungry." He tossed a few bills on the table to pay for their food and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he led out. Sam was about to argue again, before he followed.

_"Perfect, Dean! There's my boy." The sound of an opening front door and footsteps to the kitchen. Denim clad legs and musky scent and stubbly cheeks. White, floating shirts. Blonde hair and those blue eyes and that beautiful smile. Chubby cheeks and bright smile and his father's hair and clothes, stained with flour. Family. A sense of belonging. They are a unit: whole. Together they are one. Dean Winchester is whole._

The brothers get into the car, headed for the road- all Sammy has ever known. Dean starts the car and acts like it's the same for him. But he is a piece of a puzzle long since destroyed. He is not at home. Not at peace. Sentiment is cruel thing, and Dean Winchester is broken.

The sun continues to beat down on the car just as it did that day, and so they drive on.

**Author's Note:  
**I think a brief exclamation is in order, but before I start, I know, I'm sorry, I hate myself too.  
That little tale was just written as an idea came to me at about eleven at night, based off a prompt: "Young Dean in the kitchen helping Mary to bake pies". This was my interpretation, but I did _not_ expect it to get that feelsy.  
So thanks for reading, as always, see you around. 3


End file.
